


Unexpected Flight

by NewSoul



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Potterlock, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:58:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewSoul/pseuds/NewSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John take a broom ride and fluff ensues!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Flight

Sherlock had ventured to the quidditch pitch in search of a place to write Professor Snape’s essay on poisons and their antidotes. He honestly didn’t know why he bothered; he knew was going to pass all of his O.W.L.s at the end of the term already, he’d memorized all the textbooks, this years and all of the N.E.W.T level ones for good measure. It was one of the benefits of his newly built mind palace, and he’d just added a whole wing devoted to all the intricacies of potions. 

The quidditch pitch was the only place that was usually quiet enough to where he could get the work done quickly and then organize his mind palace in peace once he was done. So when he arrived to find the Gryffindor team practicing, he was less than amused but sat down to work anyways. Sherlock stayed because he could see his friend, his only friend, John Watson practicing. Sherlock then saw his friend zoom past the side of the pitch closest to him, quaffle in hand.

Everyone knew that John was a muggle born, and no one ever expected him to even go near the sport, especially Sherlock, who himself was a pureblood and infinitely more familiar with the sport, regardless of his distaste for it. John, ever the one to surprise Sherlock, immediately befriended the captain of the Gryffindor team his first year and demanded that he be taught to play. The blond Gryffindor took to the sport like a fish to water. He even surprised Sherlock further when he chose to be a chaser instead of a seeker as his small built suggested. John was dwarfed at nearly every position on the team but he still managed to score more than anyone else, and fly better than most. When John flew the pitch no longer belonged to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it belonged to John Watson and John Watson alone allowed whatever occurred in a match to happen. 

John was probably one of the best chasers the Gryffindor team had seen in several decades. The Gryffindor had been captain of the team since his fourth year, and since John’s fourth year Gryffindor had not failed to win the quidditch cup. This season was looking just as promising. John had already broken the single season scoring record for a chaser and the season wasn’t half way over yet.

For some reason completely unknown to him, Sherlock loved watching John swoop through the air and handling the quaffle like it was an extension of his body. John maneuvered the red ball like no one he’d ever seen and he only ever got better at it. Sherlock smiled as he saw his only friend score for what was probably the eightieth time that practice. As he watched the quaffle sail through the hoop he heard John’s captain’s whistle blow, signaling the end of practice. 

John had spotted Sherlock from across the field and leaned forward over his Firebolt, a Christmas present from Sherlock, and blasted towards his friend. “What’d you think?” John asks.

“I think you’re enjoying your Christmas present too much,” mused Sherlock, smirking.

“I might as well, since you wasted so many galleons on it!” replied John, “it really is too much Sherlock, you shouldn’t have.”

“Nonsense John, Mycroft is friends with Randolph Spudmore’s son; it was no trouble acquiring one for you.” In truth the Firebolt had been a nightmare for Sherlock to wring from his brother, he had to endure ridicule and torment from Mycroft all summer before he agreed in the late fall to obtain one for his baby brother. It was only after Mycroft learned that it was to be a present for John that he pulled some strings at his Ministry job and with Spudmore to obtain one.

Sherlock will never forget how John’s face lit up on Christmas morning when he unwrapped it, and how the young man had nearly fainted at the sight of the finest racing broom on the market. John was stumbling out a thank you when Sherlock called him and idiot and told him to go and test it out already. It was John flying through the air with unadulterated grace that Sherlock wanted to see anyways, not stammering gratitude.

“It may be nonsense Sherlock but I’ve seen the looks that the other Ravenclaws give you. It’s a wonder that you haven’t been hit with a worse curse by now,” John was right about that. When the word got out that Sherlock had given John the broom to seal any hope of someone else stealing the quidditch cup away, there had been a rise in the frequency of Sherlock’s visits to Madam Pomfrey. When it came to quidditch the Ravenclaws were vindictive, even against one of their own.

“I’m learning many things from the curses John,” laughed Sherlock, winking at the Gryffindor chaser, “My visits to the hospital wing are going down remember? I know more counter jinxes now than ever before.” It was true; Sherlock had become more than dangerous in dueling club as of late. Sherlock was a quick learner and the bullying in the corridors of Hogwarts ended when Sherlock rebounded a particularly nasty bat boogie curse back at the original caster. No one wanted him as a dueling partner anymore because of his newfound prowess in defense against the dark arts.

John reminiscing along with Sherlock conceded to his friend, “Alright, but still Sherlock it’s too much, I don’t think I could ever thank you enough.” At John’s expression of thanks Sherlock let out a huff and John sighed, the curly haired wizard would never take his gratitude. “But really Sherlock, do you think we looked ok?”

“I think _you_ looked amazing John,” grinned Sherlock , John honestly looked incredible swooping around in his well fitted quidditch robes, Sherlock had known _that_ for quite some time now, “Your keeper could use some work though, but that may just be you once again.”

“Thanks, and yeah I think it’s me, Greg is actually an excellent keeper,” blushed John, who was noticing Sherlock’s dark curls and sapphire eyes, not for the first time. “What homework are you doing?”

“Snape’s poison essay, and before you ask yes you can copy it later tonight but you need to put it in your own words. I will not have him and my brother at my throat again.” These words had their desired effect on John as he became noticeably tenser, John had nearly killed Mycroft Holmes the last time he had attempted to bully his younger brother. The former Slytherin and now Ministry of Magic worker had to be sent to Saint Mungo's with a nearly permanent transfiguration into a badger. John was no slouch when it came to transfiguration; he was nearly as good as Sherlock, who was in line for Head Boy. The bright blonde Gryffindor, for some reason, was incredibly protective of Sherlock.

“Oi, Watson! Clear the field we need to practice,” interrupted Phillip Anderson, the keeper for the Hufflepuff quidditch team, who were coming on to practice.

“Take the Ravenclaw freak with you,” added Sally Donovan, a chaser, who was nowhere near John’s ability. The female Hufflepuff and her boyfriend, Anderson, were one of the ringleaders of Sherlock’s bullies; she spared no expense when it came to taunting and insulting Sherlock. Like most bullies however, when it came to a physical fight she always turned tail and ran, but not this time. Not outside the corridors where there were no teachers to see, not on John’s home turf of the quidditch pitch. John glared daggers at the Hufflepuff… right up to the second he charged her on his Firebolt. Sally was on an ancient Cleansweep and didn’t stand a chance as the blur of red and brown that was John Watson simultaneously knocked her off her broom and stole the quaffle she was holding. John threw the red ball all the way to the opposite end of the field and knocked open the case holding the bludgers and the practice snitch. Without the case to hold them in the bludgers and snitch were soon on the loose and swarming the Hufflepuff team. John, admiring his work, then swooped back to Sherlock.

“Get on, and don’t argue Sherlock!” yelled the fuming Gryffindor.

“John-“

“I said _don’t argue!_ ” snapped John.

“Ok,” acquiesced the Ravenclaw as he climbed onto the racing broom behind John and wrapped his arms around the chaser’s waist.

“Hang on,” whispered John as he took off flying across the pitch in the midst of the entire Hufflepuff team shouting profanity at him. The other players couldn’t chase the duo because trying to catch a Firebolt was both dumb and impossible. The blue and red pair soared across the school grounds as if miles were nothing and Sherlock only held tighter to John. The Firebolt wasn’t exactly a two person broom but never the less the two young wizards rode around for a while. John was enjoying the exhilaration of having the wind blowing through his hair and having Sherlock pressed tightly against his back, keeping away the chill of the cool winter afternoon. Sherlock was enjoying clinging to John’s muscular form for dear life, probably more than he should. This thought only made the dark haired wizard grip John tighter and enjoy the ride even more, and the blonde wizard most certainly didn’t mind.

Eventually the sun began to set and the two young men had to end the joyride. John brought the two of them down slowly on the far side of the grounds just beyond the edge of the forbidden forest.          

“I’m not normally one for flying John but that was incredible!” exclaimed Sherlock as he edged awkwardly off the broom once they touched down. As the Ravenclaw swung his left leg over the tail of the broom his shoelace got caught on the footrests and he fell to the ground, rolling the broom and John with it. John was then unceremoniously dumped on top of Sherlock.

“Oomf,” exasperated John as he fell, and landed face to face with the taller wizard, their noses touching. The two young men lay there for a moment, giggling and realizing exactly what position they were in. John then thought for about a half of a second before he moved, tilting his head to meet lips with Sherlock’s briefly before pulling back.

Sherlock looked dazed by the kiss for almost as long as John pondered giving it before he leaned up and kissed the chaser again, lifting his knees so that they were at an angle on both sides of John’s waist. John rolled so that he was chest to chest with the Ravenclaw, and brought a hand to his face while the other rested on Sherlock’s chest. Snogging that neither of the two knew that they’d been holding back ensued. John bit Sherlock’s lower lip and followed it with a tentative lick across his Cupid’s bow upper lip. Sherlock then opened his mouth to give John’s tongue access, easing his own into the Gryffindor’s already open mouth. Sherlock also wraped his arms around John’s back, hugging the smaller man closer, and easing one hand into John’s hair, _Gryffindor gold hair on a Gryffindor,_ thought Sherlock absently. The two knock teeth and tongues as their jaws strain against one another, it was a first kiss that they both would never forget. Then the two hears a snap of a twig and froze against each other.

“Oi Fang, do yer see anything over there? I thought I ‘eard sommat out ‘ere!”

“Oh bloody hell, its Hagrid,” whispered Sherlock as the two young, and frankly quite emotionally occupied wizards stared at Hagrid’s bloodhound barking not thirty feet from them.

“Yer see anythin Fang?” said Hagrid as he finally arrived at his hound. The dog barked and bounded off further into the forest, blessedly, away from the young wizards. When the pair was far enough away that they couldn’t hear them anymore, John and Sherlock let out a breath of relief. John collapsed onto Sherlock’s chest as the tall Ravenclaw lay back onto the forest floor. They both lay there, silently breathing for several minutes and processing what had just happened.

Finally John sat up and rested his chin on Sherlock’s sternum as he up gazed at the curly haired wizard. “Are we gonna talk about that?” He asks tentatively.

“About what John?” muses Sherlock, playing coy. He had enjoyed the kiss very much, as (he knew) had John.

“Well that…k-kiss, I… I g-guess,” stammered John, “what did it mean?” he continued, inconceivably hoping that it did in fact mean something.

“What do you want it to mean John?” continued Sherlock, smiling and calm as can be. John saw the grin and returned it.

“Do you mean…” murmured John hoping against all hope that the smile meant…

“Yes John. For quite some time now I’ve wanted to do that…” spoke Sherlock, reading John’s thoughts, “I just wasn’t sure how.” At these words John plants another kiss on Sherlock. There are Just lips involved in this one but John is so forceful that he crushes both their lips and clicks their teeth together in his eagerness. Sherlock adjusts to the suddenness of John’s assault on his mouth and matches the Gryffindor’s rhythm. Sherlock then decides that he’s not having any of this “just lips” business and teases John with his tongue. John counters by ripping the blue and silver Ravenclaw scarf off of Sherlock’s neck, pulls the collar of his shirt down and moves his lips there, suckling his mark on the bare pale flesh. Sherlock tilts his head and breaths in the scent of John’s hair, which is still entwined in his fingers. John smells like the leather of his quidditch robes and the woods around them, Sherlock gives the smell its own room in his mind palace.

Once he is done placing his mark, John then moves back to Sherlock’s mouth. “Please tell me that I’m going to be able to hide that tomorrow,” mumbles Sherlock into John’s mouth.

John just chuckles and continues snogging the sense out of Sherlock, who doesn’t mind in the slightest. Seconds, or eternities pass, neither of the young wizards know which, but eventually the sun is long gone and the two realize that it’s time to head back to their dormitories. “As. Much. As. I’m. Enjoying. This,” speaks John, planting kisses all over Sherlock’s face between each word. “We should probably head in love.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at the last word, “I like that.”

John’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “that we… have to head in?” he replies in a hurt tone.

“No you idiot,” chuckles Sherlock as he kisses his chaser, “that you called me love.”  

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Potterlock fic and I absolutely loved writing it so it may be a thing now! Plus I just love throwing in fluff, its way more fun to do than smut in my opinion! This has not been betaed or Brit picked so please bear with my attempt at writing Hagrid's speech, if anyone in the British Isles sees something wrong please do not hesitate to let me know, all this is a process and I'm eager to learn! Feel free to rec anywhere I'd love to have some more constructive criticism! (emphasis on constructive)


End file.
